


Anthem of the Lonely

by CanadianTrooper



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, Angst, Canadian Confederation, Colony America, Colony Canada, Human Names Used, Watch as everybody enters and then slowly leaves Matthew's life, much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianTrooper/pseuds/CanadianTrooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course Canada has grown up hating war - it had done nothing but tear his family apart, and there are no winners in such a battle. Matthew knows this from firsthand experience, because he always comes out losing. Always comes out lonely.</p><p>ie. The story of Canada pre and post American Revolution</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

   

A blonde head bobbed up and down, making its way through the crowded port. The boy moved as fast as his small legs would carry him with one wayward curl bouncing with each step. His violet eyes were wide and frantic as he searched the docks desperately. 

Finally, he spotted him.

“Papa!” He called, running over to the large, ornate ship at the end of the pier.

Matthew came to a sudden halt in front of the ship’s captain. “Papa, vous êtes partez tôt trop?” _You are leaving so soon?_

The captain shook his blonde locks from his face, swiftly tying them back with a blue ribbon and smiling fondly at the young boy.

“Oui, Mathieu.”

“Vous reviendrez, non?” _You will return, right?_

The man knelt on one knee so he was eye level with the anxious boy. “Don’t I always, mon fils?”

A smile spread across Matthew’s face as he looked up at his guardian with adoration.

“Oui, Papa.” Of course he would come back. Francis always returned to him.

Matthew threw his arms around Francis’ neck then, and the man quickly reciprocated the affection. As much as he hated goodbyes, these were the only times that Matthew would freely give his affections.

“Au revoir.”

Matthew’s voice was hardly more than whisper, but Francis’ gentle squeeze on his back let him know that he had heard.

They broke apart and Francis boarded the ship heading back to France.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Matthew hugged Kumajiro tighter as the voices in the next room carried over to him. He could hear the anxious pacing of Francis through the thin walls, and feel the tension between him and his boss. 

Things always seemed to be tense with him in these last seven years.

“Monsieur France, there is no choice in the matter,” his boss said sternly. “This is not a matter of preference, but of worth. And our southern colonies are worth more than this frozen, wilderness. You have a duty to your nation to fulfill.”

There was a deep sigh from the older nation and Matthew could picture how Francis would run his hand through hair in frustration.

Matthew couldn’t keep up with the conversation so he didn’t understand what was frustrating his guardian, but he knew it was his duty to help Francis feel better.

The door to the large study finally opened and Francis made a hurried exit right past the colony. His boss followed shortly after and gave Matthew an apologetic smile.

Francis entered the room, knotting a scarf around his neck and then holding out Matthew’s own winter coat.

“Let’s go for a walk, Mathieu.”

Matthew gave him a bright smile before bundling up, grabbing a hold of Kumajiro, and heading out the door.

Francis had been so busy lately that it had been years since the two had spent time together.

They strolled down the quiet path in comfortable silence, admiring the setting sun painting the sky shades of red and orange.

Francis let out a quiet sigh and Matthew looked up at him curiously. He grabbed a hold of the man’s hand and squeezed it gently.

Matthew wasn’t eloquent with his words like Francis, but it was his way of expressing that he was here for the older nation. That he would always be here for him.

Francis gave a sad smile to the small colony. “I have missed having time like this, just the two of us. You make it easy to forget the rest of the world, Mathieu.”

Matthew blushed at the praise and gave his guardian’s hand another squeeze before releasing it and they continued down the darkening path.

Despite being in his own country Matthew couldn’t figure out where Francis was leading them, but he followed faithfully.

“Look,” Matthew pointed ahead at a patch of purple blossoms. “The anemone are still in bloom.”

Matthew bounded to the patch and picked a few choice flowers, beaming as he presented them to Francis.

Francis graced him with one of his breathtaking smiles, but as he looked at the flowers, the colour just a shade deeper than Matthew’s, the smile faltered.

He caught himself quickly though and ruffled Matthew’s hair affectionately.

“The anemone pulsatilla. Do you remember what we call it in French?” Francis asked.

Matthew’s forehead creased in thought, then he exclaimed, “the Pasque flower!”

“C’est bien. Your French is coming along very nicely.”

Matthew smiled and blushed again. “Merci, Papa.”

As they rounded another corner a large house came into view. Matthew looked from the familiar building to Francis in confusion, but the man remained focused ahead.

What were they doing at England’s house so late?

Francis led the way up the house to the front door and knocked sharply.

Matthew held his breath while they waited for the host to answer. He had been to this house before. Francis visited his oldest rival often and brought Matthew along once to meet England’s own North American colony; America, the well intentioned but slightly obnoxious, self-proclaimed hero.

The door swung open to reveal the cross looking Brit. He gave a knowing smirk to the two of them and stepped aside to let them in.

Francis made it a few steps in with Matthew following right on his heels, while Arthur wasted no time expressing his irritation at the presence of the Frenchman.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Frog, you were not included in this deal. So don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” he stated flatly.

“I will send the rest of his things tomorrow - if you have not already terrified him with those caterpillars you call eyebrows, or killed him with your cooking.”

Francis threw a withering look his way and then knelt in front of his colony.

“Mathieu, you need to listen carefully,” he began, adjusting Matthew’s collar idly. “Arthur is going to take care of you. So you need to be strong, and you need to be a good boy.”

Matthew didn’t know how to be anything else.

“You will return, right?” His wide eyes searched Francis’ face desperately.

The older man’s eyes fell to the floor as he shook his head. He could no longer meet the expectant look of his charge. His former charge.

“Not this time, Mathieu.”

Francis stood and straightened out his coat. He shared a meaningful look with Arthur and then left the house swiftly.

The Englishman wasted no time locking the door behind him, though, when he turned to face Matthew, an unsure look crossed his features. “It’s getting awfully late,” he mused, scratching the back of his neck. “You should get to your room. Unfortunately, you’ll have to share with Alfred.”

He directed Matthew up the stairs and down the hall while he went in search for extra blankets. Matthew pulled Kumajiro tighter to his chest as he made his way through the quiet house. His new room was spacious and the soft snores of Alfred floated across the room towards him.

A nightdress was folded neatly on the bed, which Matthew changed into, trying not to wake up his new roommate.

Arthur quietly knocked and then entered the room shortly after. He lay an extra blanket at the foot of Matthew’s bed while his new charge crawled under the thick quilts. He pulled the sheets up and tucked Matthew in just the way he did Alfred, pretending not to notice the way the nation flinched away from him as he drew near.

“Right. Well… I’ll see you in the morning, Canada. Er – Matthew.”

The colony gave no acknowledgement, but Arthur was already stumbling his way out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm glad to see that you made it to the end of the chapter. This is my first ever fanfic that I have written and posted, so I would love to hear any kind of feedback. A few things to note:
> 
> 1) Please forgive me if the French is terrible. I tried to use it sparingly since I was using an online translator  
> 2) This current setting takes place in 1763, at the end of the seven years war, when France surrendered New France to Britain in favour of maintaining their southern colonies which they deemed more productive and less costly than the Great White North  
> 3) The anemone pulsatilla is a flower that typically means fading hope and a feeling of being forsaken, but also of anticipation for new beginnings  
> 4) End notes will normally not be this long, but thanks for bearing with me
> 
> Also, in case anyone is worried, England/America will not be made out as "bad guys." If it seemed that way at the end of this chapter I'll just blame it on Matthew being tired and confused.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week since Matthew had come to live with him. And not once in the entirety of that week had the boy said one word.

One full week that dragged on for centuries for Arthur. He was a nation for goodness sake. A timeless being. He had lived over a thousand years already, yet he found himself questioning whether he could even last another day of this torture.

He and Alfred had gotten in their share of arguments, always competing with the other to yell louder to ensure they were heard. It was the same relationship with his older brothers. Yelling he was used to. Yelling he could deal with.

However, despite being bilingual, Matthew remained voiceless.

It wasn’t a petulant silent treatment either. The boy seemed to listen to every word that Arthur spoke to him. He was never late for a meal, went to bed without being told, and never caused any trouble. He was exceedingly obedient.

Some days the lad was so withdrawn that Arthur found himself forgetting his very existence. On the surface the boy kept a calm façade and everything seemed fine.

But beneath the smooth face lay a storm. Arthur could see that storm through those violet eyes that would pierce into him while he spoke. It was an icy hatred, colder than a Canadian winter. From that look Arthur could tell – Matthew blamed him for everything.

The light chatter of Alfred finally derailed Arthur’s thoughts.

He looked expectantly up at his guardian with imploring eyes, blue as the sky, and filled with the same adoration as the day he first found the colony.

Arthur found himself smiling back automatically. That was the way a colony should look at his superior.

He ruffled the young boy’s hair affectionately and Alfred continued his one-man conversation about flying to the sun, or digging a tunnel from their backyard to Arthur’s home in England, or some other nonsense, while shovelling back his dinner with youthful enthusiasm. Despite the lack of table manners, he was proud that the boy at least had a refined sense of taste.

Across the table, Matthew poked at the meal on his plate, cooked thoroughly as Arthur always had done.

The colony glanced up, eyes locking with Arthur’s momentarily, and then ducked back down, forking a few mouthfuls.

He ate until the plate was clean and wiped the corners of his mouth with the napkin provided. Arthur really didn’t know what to expect when the nation had first been given to him, having been previously raised by Francis, but he really was a perfectly well-behaved colony.

Alfred was the first to leave as usual, leaping from his seat and taking off down the hall, no doubt to make a mess in some other room of the house.

Matthew grabbed Alfred’s plate and his own, bringing them both to the sink to soak. He deposited the dishes and then left the kitchen, leaving Arthur behind in a heavy silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Matthew padded lightly across his room, tossing the blankets from his bed into a small backpack. He threw on an extra jacket, though it had been a fairly mild winter thus far and then sat at the edge of his mattress waiting.

He knew the chances of Francis coming over were slim, but today was December 21st. And every year on the winter solstice the two made a trip at night to see the aurora borealis. The great Northern Lights.

Despite his change in custody, Matthew still found himself hoping that perhaps his former guardian would return to take him.

Matthew had it all planned out. He would impress Francis on their hike with his French, he would be charming and endearing, just as his guardian was, and when they returned later, Francis would have no choice but to demand the Arthur give him back.

Francis would rescue him from this prison. Arthur may have been strong enough to take Canada, but France would fight back this time. Matthew would give him a reason to fight.

The slam of a door echoed up to Matthew’s room, followed by England’s angry yelling, which instantly alerted him to the newest houseguest.

Francis had come.

Matthew leapt from the bed, raced across the floor, and wrenched the door open.

Alfred was in the upper hallway too, peering around the corner at the entrance hall below to see what the commotion was.

Matthew moved swiftly by him, but was stopped when Alfred grabbed his wrist.

He put a finger to his lips in a silencing motion and nodded to the men downstairs, each holding the other by the collar of his shirt.

Matthew stilled himself to listen curiously.

“ – This is all I have left with the boy. It’s just one evening, Arthur. Please, don’t take this away from me too.”

The Brit let out a feral snarl.

“You always loved to the play the role of the victim, Francis. But you’re not the victim this time. I didn’t take anything from you. You decided that your southern colonies were more valuable than Canada so you gave him up. It was your choice.”

Francis closed his eyes and his grip loosened. “Please, just think of Mathieu.”

“I am thinking of him. And it would be better for him to cut all ties with you.”

Matthew sunk to his knees while Arthur escorted Francis out of the house none-too-gently.

Alfred let go of his wrist, but remained by the boy’s side, looking down at him concerned.

Francis wasn’t going to fight for him. He wasn’t going to take him back. He hadn’t lost Matthew that day; he had chosen to give him up.

Once Arthur had retreated to his study Matthew stumbled forward, grabbing his still-packed bag, and took off down the stairs towards the nearest exit.

Alfred followed behind slowly, extending an unsure hand towards Matthew. The Canadian easily danced away from the grasp. He opened the door, and threw a firm look over his shoulder at Alfred.

A spark lit Alfred’s eyes for a moment and he halted his chase. His eyes narrowed as uncertainty turned to understanding, which was swiftly replaced by resolution. He took a few steps backwards and sat purposefully on the bottom stair.

Matthew released an inaudible sigh and then closed the door behind him. The outside air was sharp and frigid, and he embraced the feeling. He pulled the straps of his backpack tighter around him before trudging out into the forest.

He shook his head, wishing the memories away. But the truth was right in front of him. ‘Nothing more than a frozen wasteland.’ That was what he had always been told.

Matthew looked around him at the surrounding trees, the mountains in the distance that speckled the horizon. He saw a quiet beauty in his country, and he had thought Francis saw that too. But apparently the only one who thought Matthew was worth anything at all, was himself.

He let a mirthless laugh. The first noise he had made aloud in more than a week. The world was cruel, and full of cruel people. The only one that Matthew could depend on would be himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur stretched his arms far above his head and let out a loud yawn.

“Oh my,” he sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. Work had been piling up and he had let himself get swept away in all of it.

The floorboards creaked under his heavy footsteps as he made his way through the silent halls.

He started at the small lump lying on the bottom step of the stairs, but recognized the soft snores instantly as Alfred’s.

Arthur gently lifted the boy and carried him back to his room, humming a soft tune all the while.

He tucked Alfred in neatly and turned to leave. The second bed across the room barely caught Arthur’s attention and he scolded himself for so easily neglecting Matthew.

The mattress had been stripped, leaving behind no covers, and no Matthew.

Arthur spun in a panic. Matthew had never been late for anything - not for a meal, appointments, or bed.

“Alfred,” Arthur called, lightly shaking the boy from his slumber. “Do you know where Matthew is?"

Alfred, whose sleepy eyes were half open in consciousness suddenly sat up with renewed energy.

He was going to have a marvellous time trying to coax him back to bed now.

Wide blue eyes searched his surroundings in a panic. “Outside,” he squeaked. “He went out and didn’t come back.”

Arthur nodded and crossed the room to the door in a few paces.

“You are to wait here, Alfred. I will return shortly,” Arthur said, leaving no room for argument.

Equipped with his heavy winter jacket and lantern, he headed out the door Alfred had been posted by earlier.

For the first time ever, Arthur found himself thankful for all of the snow that this frost bitten country offered. The small imprints of Matthew’s boots were visible, making their way away from the house and into the neighbouring woods.

Arthur followed them at a hurried pace, casting nervous glances at his surroundings every so often. Nation or not, the wilderness was still a dangerous place.

The prints followed no trail, and Arthur began to despair once he stumbled out of the thick foliage and was faced with a sharp cliff.

Carefully edging his away around the ledge of rocks, he faithfully followed the tracks until he saw a dark bundle huddled at the very edge of the cliff.

“Matthew!” Arthur called, racing frantically to the boy.

Matthew stood abruptly at the approach and Arthur gave him a swift visual inspection. He opened his mouth to demand what the hell the boy was doing and to give the lad a good chastising, while being careful as always not to touch the boy. However, for once Matthew did not shy away from his close proximity. The boy look tired, and simply defeated.

Arthur closed his mouth again with a furrowed brow. He was completely out of his depth here. Alfred was always verbal about his thoughts, and what couldn’t be articulated could be read easily enough on his face.

Not Matthew though. His silence was absolute and he always wore a carefully composed mask, with only his eyes to betray him when he slipped.

Those eyes were looking everywhere except at Arthur now, and Matthew was twisting his hands nervously in front of him.

Arthur waited patiently, knowing that the next step was something that Matthew was going to have to make.

Finally, the boy reached for Arthur’s wrist and pulled the man to the ground with him. There was a blanket spread on the rocky floor that the two sat on, with plenty of space between their bodies, but close enough that Matthew could spread the second blanket across both of their laps.

Matthew turned to the open sky above them and Arthur hesitantly followed his lead. The northern lights dance above their heads in hues of blue, green, and yellow.

Arthur regarded the sight in complete mesmerisation, before finally turning back to his young charge. He watched those violet eyes fill with both wonder and pride and a small smile appeared for a moment. But the moment was gone too quickly, and the bright features were replaced with morose.

It was the look of a man having been defeated by years of life; and such a look did not belong on the face of this child.

Matthew’s shoulders sunk beside him and his head dropped so his eyes were focused on his lap.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were soft and subdued. If Arthur hadn’t been seated right beside the boy, they may have been swept away with the wind. But he _had_ heard them. The first words Matthew had ever spoke to him.

He wasn’t sure if Matthew was apologizing for the evening, the last few days, or the situation they were in as a whole. Never the less, Arthurs put a tentative hand on the boy’s shoulder and smiled down at him. “I was only concerned for your safety, Matthew. That’s all I’m ever looking out for.”

The smile he received was small, as if Matthew couldn’t make himself truly believe the words. But, it wasn’t the sad smile from before. And that was an improvement that Arthur would accept.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Canada Day Everyone! This chapter doesn't have anything to do with that, but it is a lot lighter :)

Alfred glanced down at the empty plate in front of him. He knew Arthur had been busy lately, was almost always busy, but surely that didn't mean breakfast would be cancelled.

Light footsteps approached from the hallway and Alfred looked expectantly towards the door, quickly hiding his disappointment when Matthew entered instead of their caretaker.

Alfred's stomach growled in loud protest and Matthew sent a puzzled look from the empty table to the empty kitchen.

"Arthur's busy this morning," Alfred answered the unspoken question.

Nodding in understanding, Matthew moved past Alfred and began combing through the quaint pantry.

He pulled out containers of varying sizes and began throwing the powdered ingredients into a large bowl with eggs, butter, and finally splashes of milk.

The mixture was carefully poured into a warmed frying pan. Matthew kept vigilant watch over the sizzling batter while Alfred eyed his roommate with a newfound curiosity.

The spitting pan and periodical flop as Matthew flipped the cakes were the only sound in the room. A few more minutes ticked by until finally, Matthew walked over to the table and dished out the cakes to Alfred. He sat across the table and poured a generous helping of maple syrup over his own small pile.

Alfred wasted no time tucking into his meal and his mouth watered at the fluffy treat.

"What are these?" He asked, mouth still full of unchewed food.

Matthew tried not to wince at the sight and instead kept his eyes trained on his plate.

"They're just pancakes," he answered in his quiet, even voice. "It's one of the only things I can make on my own."

Alfred leaned in close to pick up every word that rolled off Matthew's tongue. He had been trying to speak more, and in a language that everyone in the house could understand, but his vocal level never reached beyond a murmur.

Arthur would often sigh in exasperation from constantly needing Matthew to repeat himself, or else he would miss the words altogether.

Alfred, however, enjoyed hearing what little words came from his roommate's mouth. Every whispered sentence seemed like an important secret. And with Matthew it probably was. He rarely spoke unless it was something important.

And so, Alfred always found himself straining to listen to the small voice, to share in those secrets.

Shovelling a few more mouthfuls in, Alfred made sure to finish chewing this time before voicing the next question.

"Did Mr. France teach you how to cook?"

Matthew looked up at him with wide eyes. It had been the first time Francis had been brought up in front of him since all those weeks ago. There was a sort of unspoken rule against bringing up Mr. France. The subject tended to make Arthur's face turn red and Matthew's eyes water.

There were no tears welling up in his eyes now though. Matthew simply nodded. "Papa would call them crepes. But he makes them a little different."

He poked the last few remaining pieces with a sad smile on his face.

This time it was Alfred's turn to stare with wide eyes.

It was the first time he had seen anything close to a smile on Matthew's face. It was a shame too; his cheeks were round and soft, the perfect shape for a bright smile.

Matthew stood to collect both of their dishes and made his way to the sink to clean the mess. Alfred remained in his seat, staring at the table with a furrowed brow. Clearly something needed to be done to bring out a smile from Matthew – a real, genuine smile.

He pushed away from the table and sprang to his feet. It was time for a hero to intervene. Without a single sparing glance, Alfred bolted out of the kitchen and down the hall. Ideas were already flooding his racing mind. It was time for operation: Make Matthew Smile.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Matthew examined one of the toy soldiers that Alfred had dropped into his lap. They had all been carefully carved from wood, with each face uniquely made - a gift from Arthur.

Alfred's grin stretched across his entire face and he was buzzing with excitement. He placed a discordant mixture of other toys on their play table while Matthew began to line up the soldiers into neat rows.

"This one is the general. You can tell because his mouth is open 'cause he's always yelling." Alfred quickly explained, singling out a soldier while shooting Matthew a very serious look.

He picked up another saying, "This one is the lieutenant general because he looks kinda worried about following the generals orders, but you can tell he's still tough enough to boss the others around."

Matthew nodded along and shuffled to the other side of the table to play for the opposing side.

"What are you doing?" Alfred demanded as Matthew began shifting his own mixture of toys around.

He shot Alfred a confused and sheepish look, instantly dropping the toys. Perhaps Alfred only wanted him to watch and not play.

Al grabbed the hand of the Canadian, pulling him back around the table and to his side.

"You can't be the bad guys, we have to work together to beat them!" He explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Alfred held the lieutenant general to Matthew who looked at the soldier unsurely.

"We're brothers.' Alfred said firmly. "And brothers have to fight on the same side."

Matthew looked at Alfred with wide eyes, searching his face apprehensively. But there was no lie in Alfred's blue eyes nor was there any derision to be found. His eyebrows were pulled in, the same way Arthur's did when he gave the boys a lecture about British culture or proper etiquette. Though the effect was less severe on Alfred, there was no denying the seriousness in that expression, or the complete sincerity in his words.

Matthew swallowed and dropped his gaze. He took the lieutenant general and turned back to the table wordlessly. He could feel Alfred's steady gaze on him still.

He wanted to cuff him because now there was no one to move the enemy pieces, which would make for an easy fight. He wanted to tell him off for trying to barge into his life. He wanted to shrug off those words and tell Al that he didn't need a brother because he could take care of himself and fight for himself.

But mostly, he wanted to thank Alfred for extending his hand when Matthew felt like he was falling. And as he looked back at the loud American whose signature toothy grin had replaced the serious expression again, he wanted to thank Al for understanding him even when he didn't have the words to speak.

They both turned back to the table and Al was already yelling orders from the general and smashing his troops into the defenseless enemy ranks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The two boys collapsed on their backs in the grassy fields that lay behind their house.

Al had completed plans A-P and if he wasn't careful he was going to run out of letters in the alphabet before his operation was successful.

The two had never spent so much time together as they had today. Al had let Matthew be his sidekick for hero adventures, they explored the muddy creek at the end of the lane and even caught a few frogs, they had just been exploring the back fields, having ran around for hours and were near exhausted now.

However, if there was one thing that Alfred F. Jones was, it was obstinate. And he was not going to fail this mission. The sun was setting behind the western mountains and the moon was already high in the sky, just visible in the dimming light.

He would continue with his plan, but perhaps a short break was needed. Even heroes needed breaks to recharge, right?

A moment of silence passed between the two as they worked to catch their breath, but as always Alfred was the first to break it.

"Someday, I'm going to fly to the sun," he stated loudly.

If Matthew was at all surprised by the sudden and strange comment he gave no such indication.

Another beat passed.

"Francis told me a story about a man who tried to fly to the sun but he got burnt when he was too close," Matthew said uncertainly in his tempered voice.

Alfred shrugged. "Fine, I'll fly to the moon then."

He felt Matthew stir beside him. "Do you think that's really possible?" He asked tentatively.

Alfred rolled over onto his stomach so that he was facing his brother who mirrored the action.

"Of course! Once I grow up, I'm going to be the biggest and strongest country in the world. So I'll be able to do anything I want!"

Matthew's eyes grew large again as if he was seeing Alfred in a new, impressive light.

Al grinned at Matthew, resting his chin on his folded hands. "I'll be strong enough to protect everyone, and you can stay by my side as my super sidekick. Then we'll all live together! You, me, Arthur, and Francis."

Matthew's eyes danced in the light of the dying sun. With words no more than a whisper he asked, "Do you really think that could happen?"

Alfred's answer was instantaneous. "I'll make it happen. Though - " he paused and glanced around conspiratorially, "We probably have to put them at separate ends of the house so they don't kill each other."

Despite all of his schooling, Matthew couldn't contain the grin and excited giggle that escaped him at the idea of the four of them living together.

Alfred nearly gasped at the light sound and felt his own wide smile match that of his brother across from him.

If getting their broken family together was all he had to do to illicit that joyful sound, Al would have built them a house and kidnapped Francis and Arthur hours ago. He was capable of anything, and keeping a family together was far easier than flying to the moon.

He considered it a mission accomplished.


	4. Chapter 4

_1770_

A sharp knock resounded through the house and had Matthew scrambling to his feet, quickly manoeuvring to the large wooden door.

Alfred waited on the other side. Alfred, who never knocked and certainly never waited for an answer before removing any barriers from where he wanted to go.

Matthew raised a questioning eyebrow but from his brother's flushed cheeks, furrowed brows, and drooping bottom lip, Matthew came to his own conclusions.

"Is it Arthur or England?" he questioned, stepping aside.

"Is there even a distinction anymore?" Al groused, trudging past Matthew, down the entrance hall, and into the welcoming kitchen.

Though Arthur had arranged for the boys to live in separate houses now, he hadn't the heart to separate them too far. It had mattered little to the brothers anyway, who continued to see each other regularly.

Alfred let out a groan that could almost pass for a whine in Matthew's ears. The passing years may have aged the face of his brother, but he sounded like little more than an oversized baby right now.

"Was it another messenger from parliament?" Matt fished while routing through the pantry.

It spoke volumes about Alfred's frustration that he hadn't helped himself to the food storage.

He received an indiscernible grumble in response.

Matthew placed a few choice sweets in front of Alfred as a peace offering and then sat across from his brother waiting patiently.

Years ago the roles had always seemed reversed. Alfred was the one waiting patiently and trying to coax what few words Matthew had to offer out of him.

Alfred filled his mouth with the first of the offered sweets sullenly before he sighed deeply and looked at Matthew.

"Not a messenger, Arthur came himself. Parliament has raised the taxes again and the people they're – well they're not too happy about it."

Matthew nodded along, trying not to think too hard on the fact that Arthur had come to visit after returning home for several years and had not felt the need to inform Matthew.

He glanced around the house self-consciously, though he kept the place fairly organized, it could do with a little straightening up.

"Is – is he still here now?" Matthew asked hesitantly.

"No, he headed home earlier today. I headed here right from the docks."

Right. Arthur hadn't planned to come here. So it didn't matter anyway.

"I'm going crazy, Mattie."

Alfred met his gaze then, and for a moment Matthew could see the madness that lay just beyond the bright blue.

"There's so many voices rolling around in my head, it's tearing me apart. And Arthur is always the one telling me to grow up, but he's not even willing to discuss fair representation in his parliament."

More sweets were shovelled back.

"I'm sure if you give him some time he'll come around." Matthew offered helplessly.

Al shook his head, his mouth turned down into a grim frown. For a moment Matt wondered what had happened to the brother that he knew so well, the one that would take on the world with a smile and laugh away every problem.

Al let out a mirthless laugh. "He's run out of time. Big things are about to happen. Big changes."

He stood up much to Matthew's alarm and made for the exit.

Matt grabbed his wrist, as the door was wrenched open.

He searched Al's face, trying to find some part of the innocent boy he once was. He was always frustrated with Arthur these days and surely this was just another bad day – another one of his empty threats.

Yet somehow, Matthew worried that this was different. He could sense the desperation behind Al's words.

"Al," he started. "Just remember, we're all family. Don't forget your promise."

His brother gave no answer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_1773_

The wind picked up and scattered some of the late December snow that dusted the trees, fields, and roads. It bit at Alfred's pink nose and he pulled his jacket tighter around him. He threw a disparaging look at Matthew, clad in nothing more than a woolly sweater, and looking far too unperturbed.

Matthew smiled over at his brother. The signature smile that seemed to waver between innocence and mischief. Alfred had come to be very wary of that smile.

His next few steps subtly increased the space between the two, but it was too late. Matthew's hands withdrew from his pocket, revealing the hardened snowball in his grip. White and glistening, as innocent and mischievous as that smile.

Alfred squawked and received a face full of the biting flurry. He was put off momentarily; then he leapt into action, springing towards Matthew, hitting him at waist level and taking them both for a tumble into the snow bank that lined the road.

Matthew's violet eyes widened in shock when they became encased in the icy grasp of the pile, accompanied by Alfred shoving more snow down his shirt; then he was laughing uncontrollably, trying to swat his brother's hands away.

Alfred ginned down at him. Since they had first met all those years ago, Alfred always felt a surging pride whenever he was the cause of Matthew's laugh. It was the only time his voice would ever ring out loud and unrestrained. And only when Matthew's laugh died off, did he finally let him up again.

Matthew shook the snow out of his shirt and gave Al a shove. "That was a little dramatic for one snowball."

"As if the snow actually bothers you." Alfred said, throwing an arm around his shoulder and ruffling his hair.

Matthew grunted in annoyance while untangling himself and they set off again.

The silence surrounding them was pleasant. It was a welcome change from the constant noise and chaos happening at his own home.

Funny that. Two people could live so close to each other, neighbouring countries, and yet everything was so different. And things would be changing again soon enough.

But for now, enjoying the quiet of his brother's home, no matter how temporary, would be enough.

"I'm glad you could come up for a visit," said Matt, seeming to read his thoughts.

"Hey now, nothing could stop me from hanging out with my little brother."

Silence fell again as both of their thoughts were drawn to the one thing that actually could separate them – and had for the past couple months. But neither voiced those thoughts. It was their agreement, and it just made things easier.

Instead Matthew slung his arm around Alfred's shoulder – and had they always been equal in height? Alfred was sure he had a few inches on Matt the last time he checked – and looked teasingly over at him. "You do know that I'm the older nation, right?"

"Sure you are, buddy. Sure you are."

Alfred picked up speed so he was a few paces in front of Matthew, who was left gaping behind.

"No, seriously, Al!" He called. "I'm actually older than you are!"

Alfred waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder and made no effort to contain his grin when Matthew caught up again, pouting just slightly.

They came around the final bend, where the path opened up revealing Matthew's house and Alfred squinted into the distance. His eyesight wasn't quite what it used to be.

"I wonder who that is," Matthew commented lightly, confirming Alfred's random guess that the distant blob was a horse and buggy waiting in the drive.

They approached at a sedated pace and only when they were directly in front did the carriage door finally open.

"Arthur," Matthew breathed as the scruffy blonde took the few steps down and stood before them.

Alfred felt his entire body tense and his hand reached out for Matthew's automatically. Matthew's hand squeezed back and Alfred tightened his grip, uncertain if he was trying to keep his brother back, or stay his own unsteady legs that wanted to lunge forward.

Matthew shot him a warning look and then took a step forward, blocking Alfred's immediate view of his guardian.

"It's good to see you, Arthur. I wasn't expecting you to come visiting anytime soon."

"Yes. Well. I had some business in the area and it has certainly been awhile since we had tea together."

Alfred tried unsuccessfully to contain his snort. "A short while, give or take a decade or so?"

The other two opted to ignore his statement.

Arthur reached into the carriage instead, grabbing a small briefcase, hat and coat. He handed the latter to Matthew. "It's been a dreadfully tiresome journey. Would you mind getting that tea started, my boy?"

Matthew nodded and started for his house, until Alfred gave a tug with their still-clasped hands.

"You're just going to let him start throwing orders around? When he hasn't even spared a thought for you in the last ten years? And it's not because he's been trapped with work back home, because he spends enough time micromanaging over at my place now." Alfred turned to Arthur then, his cheeks reddening with anger. "And you." He pointed towards the insufferable Brit. "You don't get to just waltz around like you're king of the world – like you – you own us!"

"In case it's slipped your underdeveloped brain since we last spoke of this a half day ago: I do own you, Alfred. You are both my colonies and I am your sovereign."

His green eyes were as piercing as ever and Alfred felt a small part of him crack. Arthur never would have spoken to him like that in the past. He hadn't grown up as a colony, and Arthur had always been more than a stiff ruler. He had been a – a mentor – or a –"

He cut himself off. It was no use dwelling on how things used to be. And though he felt weak on the inside, Alfred's voice never wavered as he said, "You've always looked down at the world, England. But the world is changing. I don't have to look up to you anymore." He straightened to his full height, as if to prove his point. "And I've found my own way in this world."

Arthur turned his head away, crossing his arms with a prevalent frown.

Alfred looked over to see Matthew giving him one last pleading look. He dropped their arms, releasing his brother's hand and walked away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Matthew balanced the tray filled with small sweets, biscuits, and china, on his hip while he opened the doors to his study.

Arthur was standing behind his desk, taking in the expansive room lit by the large hearth and window that spanned the entire south wall, looking down at the snow covered fields.

He nodded in thanks as Matthew handed him a filled cup and then moved to pour one for himself.

Arthur only had to smell the drink to know that it was made just right – the way that he always took his tea. He had never actually told Matthew how he liked it, but words often weren't needed with the young man.

They each took a sip and Matthew barely caught Arthur mumbling under his breath about proper uses of tea and that at least one colony knew not to waste it in the ocean.

The younger brushed aside his loose hair and refrained from making any inquiries.

The silence remained as they each took another sip and then Arthur nodded vaguely to the room around them.

"It's practically unchanged in all these years." His eyes drifted from his ordered desktop, over the old furniture, and across the paintings that littered the wall. "Well, that's new," he frowned.

Matthew glanced over, though he was already certain what artwork had given rise to that frown.

"Francis brought that one back from Paris a few months ago."

Matthew could see the war in Arthur's eyes; dreading the thought of talking about Francis, but still curious as to what he was up to, and of course over it all was the mask of Victorian politeness that every word had to fall under.

"And how has Francis been doing?" he asked, barely concealing the facial tick of irritation.

Matthew grabbed a biscuit and took a small bite, taking his time to finish before answering. "He's quite well, actually."

"That's wonderful to hear."

Even all of Arthur's training in civilities and etiquette couldn't keep the acid from his voice. So Matthew continued as lightly as ever. "He comes by to visit every few months. My people still adore him. Many of the people speak French, and those that know English still speak a bastardization of both languages."

Matthew couldn't help the small sense of satisfaction that welled up inside when Arthur looked down guiltily. Though it was soon followed by his own guilty conscience weighing him down.

"You know I've been meaning to visit more," Arthur began, eyes still focused on his tea. "But unlike those other nations I have an entire empire to run. And you've always been sensible, Matthew. I've never had to worry about leaving you alone. But nations like Alfred need more attention, so he doesn't go and do something stupid."

"Like declare war on Britain?"

Arthur frowned, but gave a short nod. "If only your brother was agreeable like you," he said.

Matthew bit his lip and turned away. They were flattering words, but utterly meaningless. "Al's indomitable spirit is what you always loved best about him." And despite the fact that Alfred and Arthur couldn't even manage to stay in the same room together now, that the two nations were going to war against each other, Alfred had always been, and still was Arthur's favourite.

And they both knew it.


	5. Chapter 5

_1775_

Francis placed a steaming plate in front of Matthew and the younger smiled up at his former guardian.

"The estate of your kitchen is an absolute travesty, mon fils."

Francis placed a plate for himself across the table and sat with a dramatic huff. "You do not even have the excuse of war for such bare cupboards."

Matthew could feel his cheeks reddening. Had he known ahead of time that Francis would be coming to visit he would have re-stocked his pantry. It seemed though, that every visit from his estranged family was sporadic and unannounced these days.

"And how is that… whole thing going?" Matthew asked carefully.

Francis rolled his eyes. "I feel like I am handing sweets out to rowdy children every time a new shipment of supplies comes to America." He paused to cut into the cooked vegetables and thick meat decorating his plate.

"But you are still continuing to aid Al's cause?"

Francis looked up at Matthew, studying his face with eyes that had seen more years than Matthew could ever imagine.

His lip quirked into a crooked smile. "Of course, Mathieu. My King will bleed me dry of all money if it means seeing Arthur bleed too."

The smile became a little unsettling after the statement.

"How is Al holding up?" He hadn't seen his brother in awhile, but that was what happened when you were supposed to be on different sides of a war.

Francis let out a tired sigh, forking another mouthful before answering. "Alfred's people are… enthusiastic; very driven for the cause. But they lack any standard discipline or training." Matthew nodded along with the morose words. It was what he had expected. Like Alfred himself. Passionate and fiery, but no real experience. "But even their tenacity has its limits. They won't last at the rate they are going. I am thinking of sending a friend to oversee the training of his men. Someone who is well-acquainted with war," Francis finished, smiling to himself.

Matthew looked over at him curiously, but the Frenchman offered no further explanation.

"I guess, Alfred is lucky that it's him as Arthur's opponent." Matthew commented quietly.

Francis nodded in agreement. Anyone else and the British Empire would have already wiped them out. But Arthur never saw clearly when it came to Alfred.

"Oui. They are so terribly alike," said Francis, "at least when Arthur was younger, he was just like Alfred: Both with loud mouths, little regard for authority, and absurd plans to conquer the world."

Matthew's back stiffened. "Alfred just wants to show the world what he can do. And no one is giving him that chance. What choice does he have but to take it?"

There was a lot that Matthew could have begrudged his brother for. And while he hated what this war was doing to his family, he never held it against Alfred for wanting his independence.

And they had still held on as brothers this whole time. Alfred had never made Matthew choose, and the fighting was contained to his own country, despite the British troops that were all stationed in Matt's northern home.

Whatever the outcome between Alfred and Arthur, Matthew knew that he would still have his brother at the end of everything.

When Matthew looked up, the older nation was studying him once again. "I wonder if you do not also want that same chance?"

Matthew stared back, violet eyes looking past those deep blue, seeing hundreds of years of war, countless victories and defeats, driven by the pride of a nation that was its own people.

Francis continued while Matthew's eyes were still clouded and distant. "Though, I fear that you are too gentle to initiate such big changes on your own, Mathieu."

Just like that, the spell was broken. Because Matthew was not willing to pay the crimson price for that kind of glory.

"Big changes don't always have to come at the cost of blood," he answered firmly. Francis nodded, but did not seem convinced of that truth. Before he could add any other temptation, Matthew spoke again, making his position clear. "My time will come. And I don't mind waiting for it."

They finished their meal together, moving away from all topics of war and politics. Francis told Matthew about the expansion of the Palace of Versailles – Matthew couldn't even begin to imagine the grandeur that Francis described – and about his newly crowned boss, Louis XVI.

In turn, Matthew informed Francis about the many French speaking catholic churches that had been erected lately, promising to visit Quebec together to show him. He was due to visit the area soon anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Matthew's living room and been commandeered for the past week now. Arthur had every available space occupied with papers, books, empty mugs and trays covered in biscuit crumbs.

On the other hand, Matthew couldn't recall the last time his guardian had spent so much time at his house in Quebec City. He had turned his nose at his first visit, stating that he could feel Francis' presence soaked into the very carpet.

However, things had changed. Arthur had not expected for Al to continue the war for this long. Nor had he expected him to attack so aggressively.

He hadn't even bothered to cover his current presence as another 'friendly visit.' He and Matthew both knew that his appearance was to protect his assets.

With the war being brought right into Canada's house, a quiet tension had built between the two current residents. Quiet in that both refused to address or acknowledge it.

And so, like every other visit Arthur made, Matthew had tea with him every afternoon and the two made stiff, but polite small talk, until etiquette allowed them to part. Matthew would then dismiss himself and he would tidy other rooms, or go for a walk, while Arthur would bury himself in the office until he retired for the day.

They were in the midst of tea that afternoon. Arthur was talking about the merits of cravats and how the way in which one knotted their neckwear was most telling of their taste.

Matthew put minimal effort into pretending to listen. He nodded every once in awhile and gave a soft hum when Arthur paused his speech long enough. But his eyes remained fixed on his tea cup, a delicate piece with artistically designed flowers of bright blue and soft pinks. It was perhaps the most alive thing in the room, as far as Matthew was concerned. Certainly the most interesting.

A knock interrupted whatever tangent Arthur had gone down next and they both stared at each other and then stood in unison.

"I'll get it," said Matthew, eager for an excuse to leave. Arthur nodded but followed right behind Matthew to the front door. He tried to shake off the small feeling of annoyance, but could only successfully bite his tongue to avoid saying anything out loud.

Matthew swung the door open wide.

It was Alfred.

Matthew's first instinct was to embrace his brother whom he hadn't seen for the last two years. Alfred seemed to have the same thought, but the genuine smile quickly fell from his face when his eyes fell behind Matthew.

Blue eyes met hard green and the mixture filled the entire room with red.

Matthew's back stiffened as he glanced nervously between the two.

"Would– would you like to come in, Al?" He asked, breaking the growing tension.

His brother shook his head and his eyes finally returned to Matt's, melting away to the promising blue that Matt knew so well.

"I'm not here to stay, I just came to talk with you."

Alfred gave Arthur a pointed look and the man visibly bristled. "Whatever you have to say to Matthew, you can say to me," he seethed.

Al gave a shrug and then lifted his arms, resting his hands on Matthew's shoulders.

"I want you to join me in this war," he state plainly.

Matthew blinked.

Alfred carried on. "Hear me out, Mattie. Arthur probably wouldn't say anything about this to you, but war is going well for me. I can do this. I know I can. I can almost taste freedom. And when I come out on top, I want you there with me, standing beside me." Matthew's eyes were wide and he bit into his bottom lip nervously.

"It'll be just like old times again," Al continued. "Like when we would play out in the field, you and me verse the world." He frowned back at Arthur and said with eyes focused on the older, "He's not any good for you Matthew. He was never there from the beginning. He never treated you like the way you deserved, but I would never neglect you like that!"

Matthew glanced over his shoulder. Arthur stared hard at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes. He looked as though he were bracing himself.

"Al, don't do this," Matthew said, facing his brother again. "You don't have to fight. Don't you– don't you remember that promise that you made to me all those year ago? That you would be the one to unite the four of us again? As a family?"

Al's laugh was low and bitter.

"Don't be so naïve, Mattie."

Matthew searched the face in front of him, so familiar and yet so unrecognizable. Alfred looked worn out in a way that he never had, his eyes faded to a dull blue and looking distant.

Perhaps it was naïve of him to put so much faith into his brother at a young age. Al, the one that was destined for greatness. The one who had promised to bring them together. The one who was now tearing them all apart.

"Please, come with me, Mattie." Al's voice is just a whisper.

Arthur still hasn't said anything and Matthew would think it odd if he didn't know his guardian so well. It was only Arthur's pride that stayed his tongue, because he felt it was an already lost battle.

He assumed Matthew would go with Alfred.

And the nation felt many reasons why he should. Everything that Alfred said was true. Arthur had never looked at him the same way he did Al. He rarely even looked at him at all.

"Al," said Matt, his voice stronger than before. "You have to stop this." He looked back at Arthur who was looking everywhere except at Matthew. It flared his temper and his voice grew heated. "You have to stop or else I will fight against you."

A shocked silence fell over the three. Arthur finally looked up. Alfred's eyes grew wide and dark with betrayal.

"So that's the way it is?" He muttered darkly.

Matt nodded.

Alfred dropped his hand, releasing his hold on Matt who felt instantly colder for it. "Well," he said, taking a few steps back. "I guess England has a new favourite now."

Matt's gaze fell to his feet and he shook his sadly. "No, Al. I'm sure, even when all this is over, that you will still be his favourite." He lifted his head and met Alfred's gaze directly. "But I'm not doing this out of respect or love. I'm doing it out of loyalty to _England_. Because it's my duty."

Arthur flinched at the cold nation title. Alfred nodded, the anger gone from his eyes, leaving them dull and lifeless again.

He gave Matt a look of pity, and then he turned and retreated to the safety of his own borders.


End file.
